The Dark Ascension
by MissVictoriaRose
Summary: Harry finds out about a shocking secret the Light has hidden from him. The Light has lied to him about his parentage. They manipulated him into being a weapon. Now, it's Harry's turn, with a plan to go back in time, he's going to fix the wrongs committed against him. Too bad things never quite go according to plan. MoD!Dark!Fem!Pureblood!Harry, timetravel-start of Hogwarts.
1. There is a Storm You're Starting Now

**Dark Ascension Challenge by Cassiopeia Potter-Black**

 **Plot** :  
Harry James Potter finds out some very shockling secrets The Light has kept hidden from him, soon after the defeat of Lord Voldemort. They have lied to him, telling him his parents are Lily and James Potter when they are not. They are, in fact, the Lestranges, Malfoy, Blacks, Riddles, etc. After learning of the Lights manipulation after overhearing a conversation about him between his former friends he devises a plan to go back in time. Sadly, Harry is killed by his former surrogate grandfather and learns he is Master of Death.  
Using it to his advantage he travels back in time to correct the wrongs the Light did.

 **Rules** :  
 _Harry must be Dark with very little morals_  
 _He must convert some people to his cause_  
 _Harry doesn't trust the Light_

 **Recommended** :  
 _Harry being a LeStrange_.  
Harry arriving during the Triwizard Tournament Champion choosing  
 _Harry must somehow be resorted_  
Harry becoming Lord Voldemort's Consort if he isn't his child  
 _Harry hates or dislikes muggles_

 **Forbidden** :  
 _Harry being meek or malleable_  
 _Harry following Dumbledore and his loyal lackeys_

* * *

Harry Potter just stared at her silently as he walked down the steps of the stairs. His wand hand twitched, whether to apparate from her family home or curse either, or both, girls in front of him—he didn't know. But they just sat there, at the kitchen table, staring back at him in shock.

"How long have you been standing there?" Ginny Weasley, his girlfriend for almost four years, finally asked.

"Long enough," Harry said with bitter laced words.

"Harry," Hermione said, "we didn't mean—"

"To be keeping secrets…again?" Harry asked. His tone mocking, and by the look on Hermione's face he met his mark.

Harry knew he might feel guilty for laying all the blame for this situation at her feet, but he considered her to be his closest friend. He trusted her, absolutely trusted her. On her word alone, he would have irrevocably changed his life, taken a life, burned down the Wizengamot—because she was Hermione Granger, the girl who always, _always_ , had his back and knew what was right.

But, she's been keeping secrets…again.

And if his words hurt, all the better. Her pain soothed the figurative knife wounds in his back.

"We didn't mean for you to find out like this!" Ginny rushed the words out, getting up from the table.

"We were going to tell you," Hermione interjected, "Harry, I swear we were."

Tears start to gather in the eyes of both girls, but for once, it didn't sway Harry.

"Who knows?" Harry asked in a deceptively calm voice.

"Harry—" Hermione shakes her head, not wanting to say more.

"Who all knows that _James Potter_ wasn't my father?" Harry asked, pronouncing each word slowly. He just wanted answers. He wanted to know, needed to know, how far this betrayal went. He could feel his magic stirring under his skin, feeding on his rage. How could he not know something so fundamental to who he is? How could they keep something like that a secret? More so, how could they tell him a lie?

"Everyone—"

"Ginny!" Hermione hushes.

"Dumbledore, Snape, Sirius, Remus—my whole family, once Hermione told us."

"But not me, she told everyone," Harry points out, staring down Hermione, "but she didn't tell me."

"Professor Dumbledore," Hermione paused to collect her self, "he said it was for your own safety that you didn't know about your parents—"

"My parents? So there is more than just my father?" Harry asked.

"Harry—" Hermione started.

"Hermione, if you care at all about our friendship, please, tell me the truth—the whole truth."

And with a deep breath, she did, "Your father was Regulus Black. Your mother, she was a pureblood. That's all I know. I swear that's all I know."

"I'm leaving."

"Harry!" Hermione yelled, knocking over the tea cups her and Ginny had been drinking.

"Don't! Please, don't leave!" Ginny called after him. The spilt tea ignored by all three.

"I need to know, Ginny. I need to know that I didn't just help murder or imprison whatever family I had left!" Harry said.

"That's why!" Hermione snarled. "That's why we didn't tell you! We didn't know if we could trust you to choose us, to stay on our side!"

There was a deafening suffocating silence that rang out after that revelation.

"That," Harry said, licking his lips, "was a mistake."

Then, he left.

* * *

Being an Auror has it's perks, being the one who defeated the Dark Lord Voldemort before ever setting foot in the Auror program surely had it's perks. The biggest being that he had someone trained to negotiate on his behalf with the Goblin Nation, allowing for the whole dragon mishap with Gringotts to be forgiven. Which is good, because Harry found himself in need of the Goblin's services.

"Do you have a blood test of sorts, one that will show lineage?" Harry asked the first goblin upon entering Gringotts.

"We do," the goblin confirms, "For a price."

Harry nods his head in agreement, "I would like one done, please."

"It'll hurt," the goblin said.

At Harry's shrug, the goblin inquires about something else, "Why trust us? Your ministry has it's own spell to tell parentage, why come here and pay the heavy fine for it?"

"I've found the most trustworthy are those you've paid." Harry tells him.

The goblin leaves the conversation at that, and instead leads Harry to a small dimly lit room.

Within the room, there are two other goblins, a table with crystals and a large piece of parchment.

"The price depends on how far back in your family lines you wish to go," the goblin that lead him here stated.

"I wish to know who my grandparents were, on both sides of my family," Harry said.

"Very well. Hand?" the goblin closes to the table demanded.

Harry held out his hand. The goblin grabbed it, moving it over the parchment, before making a deep cut in his palm. The goblin then let the blood drip down onto the parchment.

Everyone watched, with held breath, as the blood sank into the paper. Words and lines started to appear.

The first words, _Harry Potter,_ look to be written in his own hand, emerge on to the page. _  
_From there, two lines form—each leading to two separate names.  
 _Lily Evans Potter,_ and _Regulus Arcturus Black,_ each written in a different handwriting. Harry assumes it's the person's own writing. It occurs to him, that this isn't the first time he's seen there handwriting, having seen a letter written by each of them.  
From Regulus _'_ name the two lines lead to _Walburga Black_ and _Orion Black_ —unsurprising, Harry already knew who Regulus' parents were, from Regulus being Sirius' brother.  
The shock came from the names attached to the lines from Lily's name.  
One lead to _Reyna Ivy LeStrange_ and the second to _Tom Marvolo Riddle._

According to this parchment, Lord Voldemort, the dark lord Harry had vanquished and the man who killed his mother, was his maternal grandfather. Shit.

"If you wish to know more, it will cost more," the goblin, who hadn't said anything, said. "More blood, more gold."

"Sir," Harry agreed, holding is hand out over the parchment again.

The goblin made another cut. More blood drips onto the parchment.

From _Walburga Black_ two lines stretched out, one to _Adrienne Rosier,_ and another to _Pollux Black._ From _Orion Black_ two lines stretched out, one to _Arcturus Black,_ and another to _Ivy MacMillian._ All tracing back to _Regulus Black,_ to him.  
From _Reyna LeStrange_ two lines stretched out, one to _Danielle Fawley_ and one to _Roscoe LeStrange._ From _Tom Riddle_ two lines stretched out, one to _Merope Gaunt,_ and one to _Eugene Crouch._ All tracing back to _Lily Evans._

"More," Harry requested, putting is hand out again. "I want to know more, please."

The goblin cuts, the blood drops, and more lines leading to new names appear.

 _Adrienne Rosier_ lead to _Lilith Avery_ and _Damien Rosier. Pollux Black_ lead to _Susannah Bulstrode_ and _Cygnus Black._ All tracing back to _Walburga Black_ and _Regulus Black._  
 _Arcturus Black_ lead to _Sirius Black_ and _Rochelle Rowle. Ivy MacMillian_ lead to _Georgina Prewett_ and _Ashfield MacMillian._ All tracing back to _Orion Black_ and _Regulus Black._  
 _Danielle Fawley_ lead to _Adeline Abbott_ and _Dorian Fawley. Roscoe LeStrange_ lead to _Genevieve Ollivanders_ and _Rodolphus LeStrange._ All tracing back to _Reyna LeStrange_ and _Lily Evans._ _Merope Gaunt_ lead to _Marvolo Gaunt_ and _Constance Burke. Eugene Crouch_ lead to _Lucy Malfoy_ and _Cassius Crouch._

Harry didn't even ask the next time, he just stuck his hand out again.

"Sir, this is the last time. After this, you will have to rest and take a Blood Restorative potion," one of the goblins said.

"Sure. Just one more, please."

The blood drops and the names form.

 _Theodora Nott_ and _Corbin Avery, Rebecca Parkinson_ and _Apollyon Rosier,_ could be traced through _Adrienne Rosier, Walburga Black._ From _Walburga Black,_ to _Pollux Black,_ to _Susannah Bulstrode,_ to _Octavia Travers_ and _Laurence Bulstrode,_ through _Cygnus Black_ the lines lead to _Ruth Flint_ and _Phineas Black_  
 _Ruth Flint_ and _Phineas Black_ could also be traced through _Sirius Black_ —creating a diamond shape in the family tree.  
 _Clarissa Shacklebolt_ and _Roman Rowle lines_ could be traced through _Arcturus Black._  
 _Francisa Weasley_ and _Sebastian Prewett, Eleonora Longbottom_ and _Hunter MacMillian_ could be traced through _Ivy Macmillian and Orion Black._ So far, all lead to _Regulus Black._  
From _Lily Evans Potter,_ and _Reyna LeStrange,_ and _Danielle Fawley_ it could be traced to _Holly Greengrass_ and _Alden Abbott,_ and _Cecile Travers_ and _Damari Fawley._ Through _Roscoe LeStrange,_ there's _Miriam Shafiq_ and _Winston Ollivanders,_ and _Priscilla Yaxley_ and _Robert LeStrange._ From _Tom Riddle,_ and _Merope Gaunt_ the line lead to _Millicent Gaunt_ and _Silas Burke,_ and _Catherine Slughorn_ and _Merlyn Gaunt._ Through _Eugene Crouch t_ he lines lead to _Florence Selwyn_ and _Lucius Malfoy,_ and _Freya Carrow_ and _Issac Crouch._

Even the Goblins stared in wonder at the paper.

"Interesting," one of the goblins said.

"What is?" Harry asked.

"All twenty-eight sacred names are present," a different goblin explained.

"The fancy pureblood ones?"

"Yes," a goblin confirmed.

"And I helped kill them all off," Harry said.

"Yes."

"But, I sent some of them to prison."

"Yes, you did."

"Why?" Harry asked. "Why didn't he know?"

When no one answered, Harry took a moment to think—almost all the pureblood families were on Voldemort's side.

"Did he know?" Harry asked, "Did he know, when he killed my mom, did he know who he was killing?"

Again, silence reigned.

"We don't know," one of the goblins finally offered.

"I had a family. There were still members alive, before I—"

"Got involved in something you didn't understand?" a goblin said.

"What is that suppose to mean?" Harry asked.

"What was the Dark Lord after?"

"He was after… He wanted…" Harry stumbled, "He wanted dark arts and pureblood rule."

All the goblins were now staring at Harry.

"Yes, in a society that has the strongest restrictions on dark arts in Europe," a goblin said.

"and the pureblood rule?" Harry challenged.

"They're all dead now," a different goblin pointed out.

"And it's my fault," Harry mumbles to himself. "I have to changed this. I have to fix this."

* * *

Three months later, on the night of Halloween. Everything was in place for the ritual; the stones were in their places, pieces of a broken time turner laid within the circle, and Harry stood ready to begin.

"My boy, you are making a mistake," said a voice Harry hadn't heard in the last 6 years—since the owner of the voice was murdered in the Astronomy tower at Hogwarts.

"Dumbledore," Harry greeted in shock.

"Yes," Albus Dumbledore said with his eyes twinkling, "I'm proud of you, Harry. You did what I couldn't. You saved wizarding kind."

"By destroying it all," Harry said. "You survived. How?"

"Time walks us all towards death, I simply needed to walk slower," Dumbledore said. "I'm afraid the world wasn't done with me, yet."

"We seemed to have gotten on fine without you."

"Yes, and you did splendid, my boy. Words can't express how proud I am of you figuring out the horcurxes, and the hollows."

"I had help."

"Yes, speaking of which, if you will hand over the hollows—I can get on with helping the wizarding embrace the new age."

"A new age without the sacred twenty-eight, how much of that did you have a hand in?"

"You know," Dumbledore stated with knowing eyes.

"I know my parentage, and I know everyone who isn't dead is locked up. I know that the people I considered my family have been keeping huge secrets from me. After all this, I still end up without a family."

"I'm sorry you feel that way."

"No, you don't. You want the Hollows? I want the truth from you—for the first time in my life, tell me the truth, the whole truth."  
Dumbledore just laughs, "You don't want to know the truth Harry. You couldn't handle it."

"Try me. You tell me, and I'll give you the hollows."

"If you insist, where would you like me to start."

"With what you did."

Dumbledore started pacing, as he talked, "I convinced Merope Gaunt to lie about who her baby's father was. Quiet the scandal, it would have been if the world was to find out about Eugene's affair with an underaged witch. Bartemius Crouch Senior was Tom's half brother."

"And?" Harry asked.

"I also helped Reyna get rid of the evidence of her affair. Her father was powerful enough to get her a primacy marriage contract—letting her boys inherit their last name from her rather than her husband Harvey Montague. But he wasn't powerful enough to protect her from the consequences of being caught having an affair. Lily Evans is the younger sister of Rodolphus and Rabastian LeStrange."

"I doubt that's all you've done."

Dumbledore laughs with the pleasure of confession, "No, my boy. It was on my orders that Snape informed Tom about the prophecy."

"Was it faked?"

"No. But I think it went deeper than we believed. Killing Tom required a powerful wizard."

"You aren't powerful?"

"Not naturally powerful, but we digress. I believed there is power that runs in the Salazar lines. Tom was the only one that could have killed Lily, as you and Lily were the only one who could have killed Tom."

This time, it was Harry to laugh, "Who cares about power? My family members killed each other. My grandfather killed my mother and played a starring role in my father's death. My aunt on my mother's side killed my uncle on my father's side, who happens to be her cousin. What does power matter when everyone's dead?"

"Power, you will find, Harry, has a way of avenging those you have lost."

"Is that why you did this? Revenge for your sister?"

"The world refused to help her, to save her—all because we weren't purebloods."

"And now that world is dead and gone," Harry said, finally realizing what Dumbledore has spent his life doing. "How did you get them to fight in a war? How did the war even start?"

"Fear is a powerful thing, my boy. Fear of change, fear of anything different, yet, also there is a fear of history repeating itself. Grindelwald used the dark arts to conquer a great part of Europe. Britain wished never to see that again, so the wizengamot passed laws regarding ancient and dark magics. The same ancient and dark magics that ran through the pureblood family trees. Magics that we have long forgotten about, and therefore we regarded as dangerous."

"And Voldemort—Tom, capitalized on that."

"Yes, he didn't just build an army, Harry," Dumbledore said, looking Harry right in the eye, "He built and empire."

"And you tore it down."

He laughs coldly, "No, my boy. You did."

"You've been awfully informative."

"I have no reason to lie to you, Harry."

"Right, I'm going to finish this ritual," Harry said, looking up to gauge where the moon was, "and when it's over, I'll hand you the elder wand and the rest of the Hollows."

"I'm afraid I can't let you do that," Dumbledore said.

"You don't have a choice anymore. I'm going to change it. I'm going to fix what we have done."

"There will be consequences," Dumbledore warns.

"I know. But I'm betting there will be consequences for the lost magic, also."

"Harry—"

"I have to change this," Harry said.

"I wont let you. I've won and you won't change that," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling madly in the moonlight. "Avada Kedavra."

* * *

There wasn't any pain.

When Voldemort killed me in the forest, I must have been too focused on my impending death to acknowledged the lack of pain.

It wasn't cold either.

But there was blackness, authors got that right, at least.

Total consuming blackness.

"My master," a voice whispers, "You have returned to me."

"Master?"

"Of Death. I am Death, you are my master."

"So, what now?" I asks, my mind still on the resent revelations. I'm a pure-blood, but not a Potter. Tom Riddle—who wasn't the son of Tom Riddle Senior—was my grandfather. Sirius is my uncle… so is Rudolphus LeStrange ...and Bellatrix. Shit.

"Now you have choices to make."

"Fantastic." Let's get this over with. "What are my options."

"You have a lot of anger in you, Master. You could return to the Realms—"

"Realms?"

"A sort of parallel universe… The one you came from, since you have died, is gone—un-returnable. But there are others, many many others, that you can go to—as the Master of Death, you have access to these universes."

"What's different about them."

"One minor detail, and your actions."

I waited for Death to explain, when he… she… it? didn't, I prompted, "explain."

"When accessing these universes, your soul, as you are now, will—basically—swap with the soul currently housed in your body. You will remember everything you know and learn each time you swap souls. They story will always be the same, as will the characters in the story—but you and your actions will differ."

"Interesting…"

"You could get revenge, Master. I assure you. It is every bit as satisfying as it sounds."

"Yes… Revenge…" Hermione. Ginny. Ron. Molly. Dumbledore. Snape. Fudge. The Order. The Light. Everyone who had lied to me, wronged me. "Revenge sounds delightful."

"I very much support this, Master."

"Being the Master of Death, what does that entitle me to?"

"Power. Every life you take—it feeds you. It feeds the darkness inside of you."

"What about bringing people back to life?"

"Depends."

"On?"

"Are we speaking of those already dead when you arrive in a new universe?"

"Sure."

"One may be recalled."

"Why only one?"

"Those are the rules." Death said.

"I thought you were the closest thing to a real God… Pathetic, really. That someone can put rules on _you_."

"Do not be mistaken, Master." The title is growing on me… "I _am_ a powerful being."

"Then why only one?"

"It requires a heavy amount of power to bring back more than one at a time. At the present moment, neither of us possess the amount needed to bring back more than one."

"So, you could bring back more than one? If you spread them out?"

"Yes, but then we have a new problem."

"Which is?"

"The soul being brought back to life—needs an escort to the land of the living. You would have to die in order to be available to be the escort. That then brings on it's own problems."

"Which are?"

"You may not return to the same universe once you have passed on from there."

"But I have before… When Voldemort killed me—I returned to the same universe. It was because of the Horcrux or something."

"Hmm… It was actually due to several factors."

"Would those factors work again?"

There was a long pause before Death spoke again. "I am not usually this forthcoming on information. Master, I will tell you how to recall two, and only two, souls. In exchange, you will grant me one leeway on a simple matter in the new universe."

"How simple?"

"Inconsequential."

"Deal. How do I bring two back."

"Through your mother's sacrifice. For this to work, you have to enter the universe before it is tampered with by the revival of your Grandfather, and your mother needs to be the second soul you recall."

"Are their any other restrictions on what time I enter the new universe?"

"No. Although, I recommend sometime after you become the Boy Wonder—you need your mother's sacrifice to bring her back, and before you are reintroduced into wizarding society. It would be a real shame if you had to go about explaining why you no longer looking like Dad Wonder—assuming you are going to break the blood adoption potion running through your veins…"

"Excuse me? Blood adoption potion?"

"How else did you think you ended up looking so much like a man who isn't your father?"

"Honestly, didn't even think about it. How do I get rid of it?"

"A blood cleansing potion. You'll find it among Knockturn Alley. It's outlawed by the Ministry. Technically speaking, so is the adoption potion, but I gather your mother was desperate."

Not ready to deal with that particular dragon—changing the subject, "What about those who die after I go to the universe?"

"You are the master of Death, their fate is in your hands. But the death of a soul will feed both you and I. I warn you heavily about starvation—bad things, uncontrollable things, will happen if you don't feed."

"Alrighty then, once I go to the new universe, will I be able to talk to you?"

"Yes. I will come every time you take a life."

"So, to talk to you, I have to kill someone?"

"Yes."

"Stellar. Is there anything between us that doesn't have to do with somebody getting killed?"

"You do know I am death, correct? And that you are my master?"

"So, no?"

"Any other questions? Or are you ready to go."

"Ready as I'll ever be."

"Who is it you will be taking with you?"

"My father. The real one, Regulus Black."

"And what time would you like to go back to?"

"Right before I got my Hogwarts letter. I want to change everything, and the beginning sounds like a good place to start my revenge."

"Very well. Go forth, young Master, show them what we do to our enemies."

* * *

The familiar, down to the bone, ache of starvation was the first thing I noticed once I awoke. The second was the coldness of the cupboard. I was back at Number 4 Privet Drive. The third was that my usually curly black mess of hair was braided down pass my shoulders. The forth thing was that I had a death grip on a black stuffed animal dog. The fifth thing, that really should have been the first, was that I, Harry James Potter, am a girl.

 _What the hell did Death do?_


	2. Who is in Control?

As I laid there, on a too small mattress, on the floor of the cupboard of Number 4 Privet Drive, I came to a few startling conclusions. Mainly, that Dumbledore actually killed me.

He faked his death, and then he killed me! It's safe to say that I'm still well and bloody ticked over all of it.

Now I'm back, as an eleven year old, to stop Dumbledore, one of the greatest wizards of all time, from wiping out all of the Sacred Twenty-Eight families, who are doing a damn good job all on there own, including—or more importantly—my family, who I have never actually met… Right.

But first, breakfast.

I give an experimental push on the cupboard door, it swings open, letting light into the small room. I look around, noticing the only real change is a paper sign written in crayon, in my last life it read 'Harry's Room', now it reads 'Harper's Room'.

"Harper," I whisper, testing out the name, "Harper Potter."

It's unnerving, a name doesn't seem like anything spatular, until it changes. I don't know who Harper Potter is, or would it be Harper Black? Where is Regulus anyways?

"Well?" a voice from the hallway asks, "Are you just going to stand around staring off in to space, like a freak, or are you going to cook us breakfast, girl?"

I turn around to see Mrs. Dursley in all her morning glory, wearing a white robe and slippers with her hair still in curlers.

"I want chocolate chip pancakes!" Dudley announces as he barrels down the stairs.

"You heard him, girl," Mrs. Dursley said dismissively.

So many plans, so many ambitions, and wants all swirling in my head, that it takes me a moment to comprehend what they're implying.

"No."

"What did you just say to me?" Mrs. Dursley says spinning around to face me again.

"No. Cook you're own breakfast," I tell her making my way to the front door.

"Where are you going?" She yells after me.

"I'm leaving. It'd be in your best interest not to mention that to anyone—it'd be a shame if I had to explain it was because of you," I say with a wink, before slamming the door.

I walk away from Number 4 Privet Drive and, with a snap of magic and not so much as a backwards glance, I set their pride and joy of an immaculately perfect house, on fire.

* * *

Death is the only Deity that comes when called, and oh how fun it is to call It.

I hadn't planned to, honestly, but the man was just so vexing. We were all waiting for the train heading towards King's Crossing; the man, myself, and a half dozen others. He was on his phone, with _a client_ , yelling about how, "It wasn't his fault," and if his business partner, "wasn't such a sucker, he'd actually feel bad about swindling a half a million from him."

His yelling made a baby cry, then gave the mother of said baby an evil look—as if it was her fault. It was a civic duty to remove him from society. It was the right thing to do. When he wandered to the far side of the platform, where no one else was, I followed. When the train headed the opposite way came flying by, I gave a gentle push.

By the time anyone realized what had happened, I was already aboard the other train heading away from the scene of the crime.

But, oh, was it euphoric—a surge of power, a tingle along my spine that settled like fire in my blood. Pure, unadulterated dark energy. A better rush than flying the Firebolt.

I wanted more.

"Do you wish to speak to me master, or were you just having fun?" the familiar voice of Death asks.

"What was that?" I ask in awe.

"Power. As I said, every death you take will feed you, empower your darkness."

"It's addicting. Where is Regulus?" I ask, changing the subject.

"Healing."

"Why? Where?"

"He's with me, for safe keeping. His body was ripped to shreds by inferi. I am currently regrowing it out of magic as we speak."

"When will he be healed?"

"He will be back among the living—body and soul, by Samhain."

"Okay…"

"I will explain to him that my Master, his daughter, demanded his presence returned from the otherside. I'll leave it up to you to explain more than that."

"Yeah, about that, _his daughte_ r. You made me a girl!"

"And you do look absolutely darling, Master."

"Of course I do, but that's besides the point!"

Death chuckles, "It keeps things interesting, does it not?"

I roll my eyes, "Right. On top of that, I keep having this thought that there is something else I should be asking you about, but I don't remember what it is. So, this potion I'm to take in order to stop looking like James Potter's prodigy—where do I find it?"

* * *

Lucius Malfoy prided himself on being in-control. He was the man of the house, the Lord of the Manor. He had a seat on the Wizengamot, crafting the future of the nation. He's an important person who didn't have time to waste on peasants.

Particularly mudbloods who are determined to spread their religious filth within the Wizarding world.

"'Excuse me, sir. Do you have a moment to hear about our Lord and Savior?" a girl in a black hooded cloak asked as he walked by.

If Lucious cared, he might have thought it weird that she was dressed so dark and masking for a religious individual. But all potential for caring about oddities left him the moment she shoved one of her pamphlets into his hands.

He is Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, Lord to the Ancient and Noble House of Malfoy, of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. He is not simply handed things, especially by low-lifes.

Lucius shoved the thick pamphlet at his elf to dispose of.

"Master," the elf, Dobby said from behind him, "Master has given Dobby a sock!"

"What? I didn't-" Lucius said turning to face the elf.

Dobby was holding the pamphlet open, and there in the centerfold, was a sock.

"Master has presented Dobby with clothes. Dobby is free!"

"You!" Lucius sneered at the girl, pulling out his wand.

"You shall not hurt—" the elf begins.

"If you are looking for a new employer," the cloaked girl said to the elf, "I find myself in need of a good elf."

Together, the cloaked girl and the elf disappeared from Diagon Alley, leaving Lucius standing there, holding his wand, wondering what had just happened.

* * *

Harper Potter didn't know what to what to think, as she stood in front of Number 12 Grimmauld Place. Dobby had popped them here, and in hindsight, she probably should have guessed this was where they were headed. After all, she had set fire to the Dursley's house, and this was really the only option of places to go, since they couldn't go to Hogwarts.

Yet it was still weird to be back here again, or in this life, for the first time.

"You not be going in?" Dobby asked.

"We are," Harper said, more to herself than to the elf. "We are. I just— it's just—. Yes," she huffed out a breath. Then proceeded to jump the steps two-by-two to the front door, throwing it open with a loud bang.

Dobby scampered after her into the entryway.

"This is my family home," Harper said to the elf, "everyone lied to me."

"Dobby did not lie to Harper Potter."

"No. You never did. But, would you still be on my side if you knew the truth?" Harper asked looking at the elf.

"Harper Potter is the greatest witch ever born," Dobby said with conviction. "Harper Potter freed Dobby from nasty wizard. There isn't anything Harper Potter could do to make Dobby not be on her side."

"I'm his granddaughter."

"Who's?"

"The Dark Lord. He was my mother's father. He killed her, and I destroyed him."

The elf didn't didn't know what to say to that.

"I've got aunts and uncles, and a godfather in Azkaban, that I don't know what to do about. Dobby, will you be my elf?"

"Dobby would love nothing more than to be Harper Potter's personal elf."

"Thank you. Will you keep my secrets?"

"Dobby be keeping Mistress' secrets."

"But don't call me Mistress," Harper said with a shiver. "It's weird to be called _Mistress_."

"Dobby be keeping Missy's secrets."

"Perfect, and Dobby will be give his council when I need it."

"And Dobby be— what?" His eyes started to tear up. "Missy wanting Dobby's council?"

"Of course. I have plans, lots of plans, and I've got this bad habit of jumping before I look. You're a smart elf, cunning even. I'll need all the help I can get. So, what do you say? Want to help me overthrow the corrupt government and oppressive society?"

"Dobby be helping Missy," the elf swore.

* * *

The house is pretentious, with it's immaculate lawn and clean three story tall windows. Against her better judgement, Harper knocked on the front door.

An elf answered, "Yes, who may you be?"

"My name is Harper Potter, I'm here asking for an interview for the prophet."

The elf popped away for a few minutes, before answering, "He be seeing you now."

Harper followed the elf into the drawing room, where her interviewee was waiting for her.

"Hello dear, how are you?" the man asked, rising from his seat.

"I'm doing well, and yourself?"

"Things are wonderful. Thank you for asking," he gestured for her to have a seat on the sofa across from him. "I was told you are here for the prophet?"

"Yes, they thought it would be a lovely idea for me to interview you, a sort of 'Where are they now' conversation among war heroes."

The man chuckled, "Yes, that does sound like a splendid idea. Where would you like to start?"

Tea appeared on the coffee table between them.

"What have you been up to since the end of the war?" Harper asked between sips of tea.

"I've been putting my efforts towards leading the Department of International Magical Cooperation. It's been a nice, peaceful break to what I had spent my life doing," the man answered congenially, as Harper took notes.

"And what is it that you have you spent your life doing?"

"Fighting Dark Arts, of course," the man answered. "I was fighting the good fight before you're parents were even born!" he said with flamboyance as if appalled Harper didn't already know that.

"Dark Arts, such as the unforgivables?" Harper asked.

"Yes, such as the unforgivables, among other."

"Awful things, absolutely unforgivable to use them on another." Harper said.

"I agree, that is why I when I was head of the DMLE, I gave more power and freedoms to the Aurors than any other Head in our history."

"Especially, the imperious curse. Out of all of them, I believe that one is the worse. There is death, and pain, yes—but forcing your will on another, forcing them to act without their own consent, that is true evil."

"Well, yes—"

"Anyways, back to you. International Cooperation, I bet you got to travel a lot, how was that like?"

"Yes, it was lovely."

"Where was you're favorite?"

"France. My wife always loved it there."

"Right, forgive me. You have my condolences on her passing. I heard only the kindest things ever said about her."

"Thank you," the man said.

"Noble way to go."

"Excuse me?"

"Your wife."

"I beg your pardon?" he asked, setting down his tea.

Harper moved to the couch next to him.

"Of old age," Harper said with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, "So few get to go that route, we should be more celebratory of those who do."

She picked up his tea and offered it to him.

"You really should drink more, I heard it's good for soul, healthy even. Plus this is absolutely delicious. Don't you agree?" Harper said, as she downed the rest of her own tea.

"Oh," the man chuckled nervously, "my elf, she always did half a talent with teas. Winky!" the man called his elf.

No elf came.

"Winky!" the man barked again, his hands began to tremble, "Where is that blasted elf…"

"Dobby," Harper called.

Dobby popped into the room, "Missy called?"

"Yes, do you happen to know where Winky is?"

"Yes, Missy. Winky be sleeping soundly," the elf answered with a terrifying smile.

A smile that Harper now matched, "Wonderful."

"What?" the man asked, moving to stand only to start swaying to the point he needed to sit down again. "What did you do to my elf?"

"I didn't do a thing. Dobby here only ensured that she wouldn't get herself injured trying to interfere.

"Interfere?" the man slurred.

"Yes. You see, I'm here under false pretenses. It turns out no one really cares about a washed-up former head of the DMLE, much less do they actually want to read an interview about him. Did you not think it was weird that _I_ was interviewing you?"

"But… But—" the man began to slump into the couch cushions, shaking his head as if to stay awake.

"On top of that, I've drugged you—a draught of the living death mixed with a poison that recreates the effect of Dementors. You are about to fall asleep, at which point I'm going to obliviate you of this meeting, and plant a command that you are not to tell anyone of your missing son."

"My son—" the man passed out.

"Yes, your son…" Harper mumbled as she began searching the house.

Quickly giving up, "Dobby!"

"Yes, Missy?"

"Can you find the other person in this house?"

"Yes."

"Can you take me to him?"

The elf popped himself along with Harper to the basement, which was lightly furnished with only a bed and a writing desk.

On the bed laid a man starring at them with unseeing eyes.

"Hello, Barty."


	3. Are You Insane Like Me?

"So, what do you need?" Harper asked once they were all back at Grimmauld place.

Barty was resting on the couch in the family room. The room was littered with family heirlooms and other useless knick knacks that made an already uncomfortable Harper, uneasy. To add to the unease, Barty just stared vacantly back at her.

"Hello? Anybody home?" she asked, waving a hand in front of his face.

Barty's hand shot out and grabbed her's, stopping the waving.

"Who—" his voice horse and scratchy, "Who are you?"

"Well, that's an interesting question, with an even more interesting answer. You see, I'd tell you my name, but I don't trust you to act without think and attempt to kill me in the living room of my father's house. So, instead let's go with the family relations explanation. My grandfather on my mom's side is your uncle, making you my first cousin once removed. Since we are purebloods, you are also my forth cousin on my father's side."

"Yeah I get it. We're family, but who the hell are you?"

"I'm Harper Potter."

On that announcement, Barty jumped up and managed to get a good grip around Harper's neck.

"I want to bring him back!" Harper gasped out, clutching at his hands as he attempted to strangle her.

"Who?" he asked, only slightly loosening his grip

"You know who."

"Why? He killed your parents."

"Technically just my mom," she said quickly, "but I plan to bring her back too."

In his confusion, Barty completely let go of her neck.

"How?" he asked.

"Mom is a little bit more difficult, but the Dark Lord isn't actually dead… just sort of… ripped from his body."

"Therefore, we need to give him a new body?"

"Yes. I was hoping you would help me."

"That's why you rescued me? How did you know I was there?"

"You know, now since I think about it. Not everyone in my family is for the Dark Lord, and not everyone hates him either—but _everyone_ hate Crouch Senior."

"So do I," Barty growled.

"Well then, what do you say? Feel like getting one over on old dad, releasing all of his captives he was so proud of catching, gathering up the old crew, resurrecting the Dark Lord, and ultimately overthrow the government in attempt to return the Wizarding world to the old days of the Sacred Twenty-Eight reigning power?—Give or take a few families. I have to say, the title, Lord of the ancient and most noble house of Crouch, would look splendid on you."

"You are a strange little girl, Harper Potter."

"Want to know a secret?" Harper asked.

Barty nodded his head 'yes'.

"I'm not actually a Potter."

* * *

"Remind me why we are here," Harper politely demanded as she gazed around at the dingy alley.

Barty shot her a look, "Because what we are looking for isn't found in family friendly places. Scared?"

"No! You haven't even told me what we are looking for."

"You're potion for one," Barty said as they made their way down the alley. "Secondly, a wand for me. Thirdly, a few things that any respectable pure-blood heiress would have. Now keep up and don't talk to anyone."

There first stop was a clothing store by the name of _Regalia Clothes Minded._ The store had a opulence look about it, that bordered on ostentatious. The elderly woman, who seem to be the only other person in the store, was quick in her nosiness.

"What do we have here? A gentleman and his daughter?"

"Ah," Harper began only to be interrupted by a throat clearing.

"My ward, actually," Barty said, "We are in a bit of a hurry today, if you don't mind making this fast?"

"Oh, not at all," the woman said directing Harper to stand in front of the mirrors. "What is it that you need today, dearie?"

"She needs a black Hogwarts school robe, we were hoping you could handle our wanted alterations; it needs a hood, of course, and an unnoticeable inside chest pocket." Barty said.

"You'll want an expansion charm, along with a feather-light one, as well. Yes?"

"Yes, if you are able,"

"Of course I am!" the woman said.

The seamstress had the school robe finished, along with a full wardrobe for Barty, before the half hour was up, even Barty was impressed at that turnaround.

"I still don't understand why we had to come to Knockturn Alley to get an altered school robe," Harper said once they were back out in the alley.

"Because people here wont bother to waste their thoughts on _why_ you need an altered school robe."

"Will I, though?" Harper asked.

Barty shot her a look.

"The point isn't will you use it or not, it's the fact that you have it. There are laws, rules, and expectations that govern us, only if we let them. The rule is that school robes should be unaltered. The reality is that no one likes to be handed things, and then required to continually hold them. It's a ridiculous expectation easily avoided with the addition of a pocket. Why would you not want a pocket? If the rules are stupid, or more importantly, not to your benefit. Then, disregard them, work around them, there is alway a loophole—how do you not know this? Even James Potter was a follower of this logic."

"Orphan, remember? I spent more time in a cupboard then I did in the wizarding world. I don't know any of this," Harper said, belatedly realizing that was the honest truth, even taking in account of the time travel.

"You mean to tell me, you don't know anything about this world that you are so intent to change?" Barty asked.

"I know from… let's call it 'reliable intuition' that the remaining house will be dead and decimated before the decade is out, if something doesn't change."

Barty stared for a bit, before agreeing, "Change sounds lovely."

He then proceeded to lead them into the next shop.

This one was a wand shop, evident by the wall lined with wand boxes.

"What do y'all want?" a man sneered from behind the counter.

Barty slowly looked around, "I'll give you three guesses."

The man humphed, "Wand arm?"

"Left."

Measuring tapes started flying around, measuring Barty.

"And here I thought you were dead, Bartemius Damien Crouch," the man said.

"Did you really get that from the tapes?" Harper asked.

"The arm measuring is just a cover for the identity check. They tell him a name, along with a detailed description of my magic, so he can appear all-knowing when he can quickly match me to a wand," Barty said to Harper, before flashing the man a mad smile, "By the way, sir, I'm waiting."

The man got the message, as he ran off to start pulling boxes of wands for Barty to wave.

On the third try, Barty's smile grew genuine.

"That's a thirteen inches long ebony wand with an ashwinder heartstring, a good wand for a dueler," the wand maker.

"Perfect," Barty said with a smile.

"And you miss?" the wand maker asked Harper.

"I'm good—" Harper began.

"And we're done here," Barty said, pushing Harper out the door.

The last stop was to an apothecary, Barty walked in and the woman running the place recognized him immediately.

"I'll be damned. Barty Crouch, back from the dead," the woman said.

"Yes, madam," Barty said with a flirty smile, "What do you say to doing an old friend a favor?"

"Depends on the favor… and the friend," the woman said, crossing her arms.

"I need you to get a message to the old crew, and anyone else whose interested—I'll leave it up to your digression," Barty said.

"Saying?"

"Winds are changing, a storms coming. _He's_ returning, thought a few people would like to know. Feel free to have fun with the words—but make it ominous and scary," Barty said with a wink.

"And I'll be needing a blood cleansing potion, please," Harper said, reminding the two adults she was still there.

* * *

"So, princess, where do you want to start with this master plan of yours?" Barty asked.

They were back at Grimmauld Place, in the study. Barty sat with his fee propped up on the antique looking desk. Harper paced wall-to-bookcase going through different plans out loud, while Barty added his thoughts.

"We can't do anything about the Dark Lord, until we can track him down. He probably has plans for a ritual—or at least knows of one, that will give him a body again. Which means we should start with planning—"

"A mass Azkaban breakout," Barty hummed.

"Azkaban?" a voice screeched from the entryway hall loud enough to be heard three stories up and through a wall, "What is this I'm hearing about Azkaban?"

"I thought you and I were the only ones in the house?" Barty inquired angrily.

"We are."

"Then, who—"

"My dead grandmother." Harper answered Barty.

"What do _you_ know about Azkaban?" Harper yelled to the painting.

"Depends," the painting yelled back, "on who's asking."

Harper, followed by Barty, made her way down the stairs to the front hallway to stand in front of the paint of Walburga Black.

"That would be me, Harper Potter."

"A Potter, in my house?" the painting shrieked.

"Only by technicality," Harper said.

"You were going to tell us what you know about about the prison?" Barty prompted.

"Why should I? A blood traitor and a stranger trespassing in my home, why should I help you two?" asked the painting.

"Because we are planning to breakout a few friends," Barty said, "including your son, Sirius."

"More blood traitors—"

"More importantly, the LeStrange's, Dolohov, Rowle, Yaxley, Travers, Nott—the purebloods locked up unjustly. We want to break them out. So, Madam Black," Barty gave her a winning smile, "what do you know that could help us?"

"I know my family helped fund the creation of the prison. I also know a copy of the most resent ward update is located in the library."

"Well, that's convenient," Harper said.

* * *

"We're going need more wands for this," Barty noted, examining the ward blueprints on Azkaban hijacked from the Black Library. "Possibly even an army."

"We don't need an army. Just a few good men," Harper said, looking at the calendar on the wall, which was dated August 31st. "Damn—and more time."

"Missy needs to drink." Dobby said, popping in to the room.  
Dobby held out the blood cleansing potion to Harper.

Harper took the potion from the house elf, spinning it around in her hand.

"How much do you think your looks will change?" Barty asked.

"Completely. I look just like James Potter, that's all from the first potion, meaning I'm suppose to look just like my actual father," Harper said, downing the drink in one gulp.

Barty and Dobby watched as Harper dropped to the ground, in a heap of groans and cracking joints.

"Harper?" Barty inquired, only for Harper to wave him of.

Her skin rippled, bones shifted. She ran her hands up and down her face as her features reconfigured. The others stood, dumbfounded, watching Harper Potter, the-girl-who-lived, morph into Harper Black, the unknown heiress of the House of Black.

Her square features she had inherited from James Potter, now looked refined. Her previously untamable wavy brown hair had changed in to light bouncy curls of dark brown, almost black, hair. Her cheekbones became higher and sharper, and chin became more pronounced, creating a heart-shaped face. Yet, her eyes stayed the same green of her mother's.

"That was blood painful," Harper finally said after catching her breath.

"You really are his daughter," Barty said, "like a mini-female-Regulus. It's utterly terrifying."

"Thanks."

"No, really. If you knew your father you'd understand."

"Well, I've never met him." Harper said shortly.

"He was quiet. His whole personality was quiet. He had the ability to just sink in the shadows. If he didn't want to be noticed, he wasn't. Which was made all that more frightening when the Dark Lord took your father on as a progeny. He was a forced to be reckoned with, one that his enemies never saw coming."

"Why did the Dark Lord take such an interest in Regulus?" Harper asked.

"Because he was a Black. Same reason the Dark Lord courted Bellatrix to be a Death Eater. The magic that flows in the House of Black, in your blood, is raw offensive power—the family magic. The very magic you said was in danger of being wiped out."

"Do all the Sacred Twenty-Eight houses have the same magic?"

"For someone attempting to save the world, you are incredibly ignorant," Barty said.

"Story of my life," Harper said.  
With a sigh, Barty answered, "No. The magic in my family is based in the mind. We have a natural strength in the mind magics, along with a talent of thinking strategically."

"My father is a Black and my mother is a LeStrange, what does that mean for me?" Harper asked.

"The family magic usually sticks close to the surname, passed down through the male line. This means you've got the Black affinity for offensive magic, your blood will sing with a good fight. With a side of the LeStrange talent in ancient magics. In whole, you have the potential to be a hell of a fighter, and an intimidating enemy."

"I do strive to please."

"Right. Now the question is, what are we going to do about Hogwarts, since you'll be boarding the train tomorrow morning?"

"Barty, how good are you at polyjuicing people?" Harper asked, with a sly smile forming on her lips.


End file.
